


Choices

by mmmelmoth



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dementia, Domestic Fluff, Emotions, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heartbreak, No Romance, One Big Happy Family, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Trigger warning: Alzheimer's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: This is what the years after what happened in the game look like, and what choices are involved for both Hank and Connor.





	Choices

With the new android laws provoked by Markus' mostly peaceful revolution came a lot of options for Hank and Connor to move on.

They'd settled for their path without ever really discussing it: Connor came home with Hank every day after work to one day find Cole's old room cleaned up for him, and when Hank found digital adoption forms filled out in the RK800's decent handwriting on the kitchen counter roughly one year later, he didn't hesitate to sign them.

They continued working in the Police force, setting an example for all those who weren't yet convinced that androids should be treated with respect and that collaborating with this new species is not only possible but a great option. (You guessed correctly who it took the longest to persuade: Detective Gavin Reed.)

Two dozen years later, Hank retires. He is respectfully dismissed from the Police Force, his retirement grant a big, cozy pillow for him to finally rest on. At first, Connor keeps going to work. They assign him a new partner, another android with much less field experience than him, but it's far from the same. 

So Connor stays home, petting Sumo’s belly and trying to make Hank eat healthier. They watch reruns Star Trek, a show Hank used to love growing up – it only confuses Connor with its inaccurate tech and physics perceptions, which is the most amusing part to Hank.

Truth be told, he’s been drinking less since Connor lives under the same roof, which is not to say he hasn’t been _wanting_ to. It would be one thing to ignore a robot’s advices when it comes to his casual self-destruction, but since he knows that the robot at his sides actually cares, his almost constant supervision has pushed Hank to avoid his old habits and even eat some vegetables now and then. He could’ve seen this coming upon filling out the adoption paper, he knew that having a son makes him attempt not to need these small harmful satisfactions to make it through the day.

The Red-Ice circulation stopped years ago, mostly thanks to Connor’s intervention, analysis and leadership. They’d done it, they’d reached the goal Hank had been striving for ever since Cole’s death. So what was it that rendered him unable to lay off the alcohol? Firstly, the force of habit is much stronger than an old human’s feeble mind. Secondly, and most of all, having Connor around was a constant, painful reminder that Cole was gone, even though Hank loved Connor with every fibre of his heart. It would never occur to Hank to confuse one with the other. Connor was rational where Cole would have been emotion-steered; he was patient where Cole would’ve acted eagerly. They share the same empathy though, from what Hank remembers of his six year-old son, they share the same determination, and if Cole had lived to grow up, he might’ve even looked slightly like the RK800-model. Much like Cole, Connor still perceives Hank as someone worth caring for, worth looking to, worth listening to. With his son, that was something he could accept because it’s natural for children to idolize their parents, but every time he caught Connor smiling warmly he couldn’t help but think _Fuck, now you’ve managed to trick this perfect android into believing you’re actually worth it, you piece of shit._

They’d talked about it exactly once, and Hank remembers to this day how much it hurt to watch Connor insist and argue rationally that he couldn’t think of a better person to stay with, that Hank was his best option and only _choice_. That word was a punch to the gut because everyone had fought so hard just so androids would have that, and now Connor threw it away like that by sticking with the vulgar old drunk he was assigned to years ago.

That’s not what Connor thought, of course. And he still doesn’t, not even after he started detecting signs of illness manifesting in Hank’s every day behavior. Now it never was Hank’s strong suit to know which weekday it was, but recently he drifted off in the middle of a conversation and left the door unlocked, causing Connor to run out three times in one week to find where Sumo had wandered off to.

“Hank” he approaches cautiously when they’re eating burgers he brought home – well, Hank is eating one and Connor just occasionally dips his finger into the honey-mustard-sauce, that’s his favorite – “Have you been drinking more lately?” “Drinking? Yes. More? Nope.” Hank replies in his usual slur of words between two bites. “Then don’t take this personally, it may be a misconception” Connor is 98% sure that it’s not “but the condition of your memory has been deteriorating, hasn’t it?” “Pah.” Is all that Hank replies, either too occupied with his dinner or trying to hide behind it. Connor waits for him to say more, and when he doesn’t until he finishes eating, the android continues: “I’d like to take a look at your handwriting, Hank.” “My handwriting? Whaddaya think I am, some kind of damsel who keeps a fucking diary? I haven’t written shit ever since I retired, get off my back, Connor.” Hank shuffles and disappears onto the couch, switching on the TV for some sports.

For a second, Connor stands in the kitchen by himself, weighing out his options. Nothing will happen if he keeps pushing Hank to see some sense, and he’ll lose his trust if he consults a doctor without him knowing. He feels like his heart sinks into his stomach and he swallows his pride along with the need to punch something as he comes to terms with his decision to do neither of the two and stay with Hank. He goes and curls up against his shoulder on the couch, not really interested in the game but as always reassured to feel Hank’s warmth and his beating heart. Sumo jumps on the couch too, paws crossed on Hank’s lap and his head on Connor’s knees where he’s the most likely to get his ears scratched.

When they’re both asleep, Connor stands up slowly and makes his way into Hank’s bedroom / office, digging into the folders for bills on his mobile device until he finds the most recent one with a signature. Mentally comparing it to the adoption form from way back confirms his apprehension from before, the letters from Hank’s hand have grown much bumpier than would be normal, meaning he can be 100% positive that Hank has come down with Alzheimer’s.

That doesn’t make Connor’s loyalty waver. On the contrary. In the next morning, he takes Sumo for his walk and then wakes Hank with the breakfast prepared. The now white-haired man sits up in bed, sniffing the air. “Are those croissants?” Connor smiles at him and helps him up. “Shouldn’t we walk Sumo first?” “I already did.” They eat – Hank eats, Connor occasionally dips his finger into the cherry jam – and clean up together afterwards. “Shall we take Sumo for his walk?” Hank asks when all the dishes dry again and Connor pushes down the pulsating side of him that wants to jump up and yell This isn’t fair! “I already walked him, Hank.” He repeats patiently and smiles despite everything he knows is wrong. “Oh. Thanks, Cole.” Hank smiles back and moves into the bathroom to take his morning shower.

After Hank accidently calls him Cole two more times that day without noticing, Connor contacts the medic of their Police Precinct while Hank is occupied. “Connor, good to hear your voice! What’s up, man?” The young woman greets him via intercom. “Yes, hi. Listen, Hank is showing obvious signs of Alzheimer’s Syndrome. Can you refer me to anyone or make prescriptions for him? It’s going downhill rather quickly.” His L.E.D. changes back and forth between blinking red and blue. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. You know there’s no actual cure yet, but I can recommend you someone for therapy and some pills. Is that alright?” “I don’t think Hank would agree to therapy. Medication’s what I’m looking for.”

One day later, the first few packs of pills get dropped off with the mail. When Hank isn’t looking, Connor quickly licks one to check its ingredients. They all make sense. He’s even 60% sure they can help stabilize Hank’s memory. Before lunch, he crushes them underneath a kitchen knife blade and thoroughly mixes them in Hank’s takeaway curry. Nothing wrong with that, right? Hank doesn’t even taste a difference.

One day, Hank gets to the mail quicker than Connor, which was bound to happen eventually. “What’s this?” He murmurs, and the android is already at his side when he unpacks it. “What in hell?” Turning around to face his son, Hank clenches his teeth: “Did you order this?”

“Yes.” Connor’s voice doesn’t waver.

“Is that because of that memory crap you asked me about while back?” “Yes.” For a moment they stare at each other, then Hank shakes his head gently. “You shouldn’t go behind my back.”

“You’ve got –“ “I know I’m not getting any younger.” Hank interrupts, “And I know I’m not getting any better. I know my head’s not as clear as it used to be, but _this_? The most this can do is postpone the inevitable. That’s not worth the cash, Connor.” He throws the package on the ground and goes to sit at the kitchen table where Sumo lets himself be patted.

Connor catches up after picking up the medicine. “But it also couldn’t hurt, right? There is technology now, Hank. You don’t have to die just because your body says it’s time. Look at Sumo!” The dog wags his tail at the mention of his name, and Hank turns in his chair.

“Yes, there’s technology. But I’m not forever young like you, I’m _way_ past that. And at one point you’ll have to accept that, and see that neither pills nor a billion doctors can make me last.” Connor bites his lip and lowers the package of pills. “It’s my choice.” Hank goes on, “You made yours, now let me make mine. Okay, son?”

It feels like breaking through his programming all over again to bring himself to stand still and nod.

“Come here.” Hank stands up and pulls Connor into a hug, much like the one half a lifetime ago, only now the occasion is a less merry one. Connor holds on to Hank and feels a tear run down his cheek because he knows that this means  _Yes, I’ll stand by and watch_. But it also means _I’ll be there_ , same as back then. And that’s enough consolation for the both of them.


End file.
